Caged
by Kutsushita-Socks
Summary: Uchiha Sasuke is a legend in the halls of Otogakure, but brilliance comes at a price. Drabbleshot, Sasuke-centric. Almost OroSasu.


Caged Hawk – A Naruto Fanfic

**What I meant by 'not exactly OroSasu' was that if you WANT this fanfiction to be OroSasu, and if you have a good eye for picking up little, seemingly insignificant details - or you just like the idea of creepy snakey paedophilia - then it will be OroSasu. But if you don't want it to be, then it doesn't have to. Everyone wins. Except Sasuke, of course.**

**Popped into my head whilst I was at karate class, because I used to feel like Sasuke does below. My class was full of slow little kids. Then I made brown belt and moved up a class. It's good to be challenged, but sometimes you find that you miss being the best…**

When Orochimaru deigns to grace his lower subordinates with his presence, they will react in two ways. The slightly stronger-minded among them will train harder than they have done on their own, or with their fellows, and the weaker of them will falter, and shake, and make mistakes.

Orochimaru notices all of this. Of course he does. Always he is marking them out, and the end of the training session might well be their end too. The strongest ones might be promoted, let out of their cages for a day or two until the snake gets bored with his new toys. The weak ones go straight to Kabuto and the laboratories. And tomorrow the training continues.

Sometimes the hawk will come down to play with the snake. After Orochimaru and the Uchiha have trained – time is of no matter in the endless twilight – Orochimaru might choose to visit his subordinates again. And sometimes Sasuke drifts after him, his mind elsewhere, just following.

When he enters the room after Orochimaru the Sannin is nowhere to be seen. Sasuke assumes the snake's entrance has gone unnoticed: there is no whisper of fear and anticipation running through the cumulated shinobi. They are huddled in groups, talking. Some of them are laughing and it sounds foreign to Sasuke's ears. None of them are training.

He is at odds with the rest of them, then, the only one standing on his own. The pale, dark-haired boy, looking almost delicate in his loose white yukata bound by the ridiculously melodramatic rope (he hates it, he's always hated it) as he leans languidly against the dojo wall; watching the rest of them train through half-closed eyes.

Those eyes are as dark as his hair, but they're much, much darker. When he feels like it, he will make eye contact with one of his peers (that's a stupid word; none of them are equal to him) and all they will see is a mirror, and their own face reflected. And they shudder, and look away, wondering if Sasuke's brilliance is marred with something else. They're right: it is; but it isn't what they suspect.

And when Orochimaru finally shows himself – dropping down from the ceiling, appearing in billows of white smoke, curling out from the corner with snakes draped over his shoulders, and the training finally begins, Sasuke sometimes has to look away, because it's painful. They're so _slow, _and it _hurts _to watch them, and they fumble and drop their weapons, and the slashes they make in their opponent's bodies are so feeble and shaky and small and it's _painful. _

It's not only the Uchiha who is frustrated. The Sannin simply stands there and watches, his jaw clenched, radiating fury. Sasuke knows what's coming now. The next subordinate to drop a weapon or fumble a shot will be picked out; Orochimaru will swoop down upon them and lay out a violent, vicious punishment, while the rest of the room watches in silence. If the shinobi is still alive after the beating, they are flung out of the room to slam into the stone floor of the hall.

Sometimes Sasuke watches the attack, and sometimes he does not. He notices occasionally that some of the sharper-eyed subordinate's gazes will flicker from Orochimaru and his victim to the snake's pet Uchiha, leaning against the wall, his eyes lazily half-closed, looking straight through the scene in front of him, apparently not hearing the yelps and whimpers of pain.

Though he would never admit it, he's not sure whether he dislikes their admiring stares as much as he tells himself.


End file.
